Sometimes . . . we are happy. Sometimes there is sweetness like strawberry juice lingering on our lips. Sometimes we share and laugh. Sometimes we want the same things and are able to work together to achieve them.

Sometimes, late at night, after the passion, I want to lie with you and relish all that is sweet and lingering and harmonious between us. I want it to keep humming in the air around us - just for a little while.

I want to let go of all that has come before and be together just like this.

sometimes.

Maybe we should hold a funeral.

For the you who used to be

and the me that used to be.

We could dig a hole and toss in
what we've lost
what we grieve over
what we will never have.

and bury it

deep.

And then we could hold hands

place flowers on the past

and start again

I was so hurt and angry. Beyond hurt. Devastated. Crushed. The fragile shell, with which I had carefully walled off my heart, was decimated into a crushing smoking pile of rubble. Leaving it bleeding and tenuously beating.

I was in such torment that.....

I couldn't see your pain. Your agony.

I realized that if: anger = pain for me, the equation holds true for you.

or is it that pain is easier to deal with if it is transferred into an anger form.

either way. You have been excruciating for a long time. And....

I never once

noticed.


I can get out the bandages and mortar and once again wall up my damaged heart

but you

is there any healing for you?

or does the agony - for you -

go on

and on

and on.

I almost saw you last night.

The you who used to be.

I saw a glimpse in your countenance. A brief smile.

We shared a laugh. Briefly.

......and you were gone.

I turned my head and cried.

I have actually come to miss you.
The you that I used to know.

Not the you that currently inhabits your being
the one that cannot see anything
beyond it's own
consumption
like Beast
in a Disney movie.

The other you.
The one that was kind, and gentle, and....
touched ever so softly.

I'm no Beauty,
and I am trying hard
to love this Beast

but it doesn't stop
my longing
the other you.

...and what am I do to with the information you so indifferently tossed out to me? You feel nothing? You are not capable of loving? I hear the sound of glass (which is my heart) shattering into thousands of exquisite glistening razor shards, slashing at my very existence. You don't love me? You don't love me?

 I hear screaming. It is my mind shrieking with disbelief and horror at this news.




Days later.

I have digested this news and chosen to deal with it by referral. I will believe you are not taking your antidepressants and thus are not in a reasonable mind. You are not you. (Please God, let that be the truth).

Yet, I always suspected it on some level. I always suspected that because you were unable to value yourself you were equally unable to love anyone else. But dammit, I wish you hadn't said it outloud.

Now I pantomime my days as the me I used to be, before the news. I pretend to laugh and care and live...

Somewhere in the recesses of my female mind is the stalwart belief that if I just give enough or do enough or am supportive enough ...... he would love me.

Then my other synapses kick in and I am sickened. over my own desperate needs. After all most men seem to prefer bitchy dominate women who tell them what to do. So how would my meekness be construed as desirable. Meekness is a synonym for weakness.

I feel most vomital for my lack of spine.